Gorillaz: Rock It
by Vilsy
Summary: The foursome are wandering in a rather frightening and surreal wasteland. This is an account of how Murdoc, Noodle, Russell, and 2D may have found themselves there. Next yearly chapter update complete! Har har.
1. Day Four

**The Gorillaz:**

"Rock It"

Fan fiction by _Vilsy... _

* * *

The Gorillaz characters and related situations thereof are copyrighted property of Jamie Hewlett and the Gorillaz Partnership. Just thought everyone would like to know that. 

You might be familiar with the music video "Rock It." If not, you should check it out at the Gorillaz website in the cinema section of the studio. Very neat song, cool video, and I'm paying it homage by formulating a story based around it. Why is the band wandering around in that surreal wasteland? Read on to discover a possible answer.

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**Day Four**

"For the millionth ruddy time, Russ, we are not bloody lost! I happen to know exactly where we are!" Murdoc's scratchy yet vehement voice reverberated quite clearly off the walls of the close quarters of the Winnebago, one black eye and one red eye glaring ominously at the robust male sitting beside him. Russel's pale white eyes returned the spiteful gaze, but his expression remained calm and collected, contrasting the middle-aged bassist's impatient scowl.

"All right, cool it Muds. Was jussa question, dog."

Murdoc's already white knuckles curled even tighter around the steering wheel, almost as if to squeeze blood from it. "Just a question you've asked every five bleeding minutes! Give it a rest, already; we'll be in town by sundown. Sweet Satan…" Multicolored eyes were now leering back through the windshield, not at a smoothly paved street, but at a rocky, bumpy, dusty, desolate road. Yes, surely they'd arrive at their destination before sunset.

Noodle was resting her chin against her palm, gazing out of the window as she sat across from 2-D at the rather small fold-down table seating arrangement just behind the driver and passenger's seats. Her bangs shagged down over her slim eyes, so one couldn't tell if she was in fact napping or indeed observing the outside world. Regardless, she appeared melancholy.. Enough so that the vocalist sitting across from her felt as though he should inquire about her condition.

"Oy, Noodle? Aw'right there, love?" 2-D's voice was soft, nearly silent as he'd been trying not to draw attention from the two in the cockpit. He had once mentioned that Murdoc had missed a turn, watching as the sign for the proper exit rolled by outside the window, and he still had the bruise to show for his impudence. After that incident, he chose to remain quiet and idle lest he incur the Satanist's wrath once more.

Noodle remained motionless, poised firmly on that palm that supported her cheek, leaning her elbow on the less-than-sturdy table. It was enough to bear the little weight she put on it, and after a substantial spell of awkward silence (disregarding Murdoc and Russel's arguments) she finally turned her head a bit to acknowledge 2-D. "Hai… I am all right, 2-D-sama. I wish that our journey's end would come soon. I have much boredom overshadowing the joy I once felt."

2-D rested his black, empty eyes on the young girl in front of him, comprehending her words sluggishly, but commiserating with her all the same. "Aye…" He looked past her to see how Russel was faring with Murdoc, then looked back to the Japanese pubescent. "It is a bit boring. I thought we'd be there by now but…" He dared not test the quality of Murdoc's hearing; despite his age and having to stand next to a bass amp for extended periods of time, Murdoc seemed to have acute hearing whenever 2-D said something worthy of berating.

"How many times do I 'ave to tell ya, this is a short cut! D'ya really want to be stuck in traffic all damned day? Well? I didn't think so, so stuff it!" Murdoc's mood wasn't improving, but Russel seemed to be taking it well, only resorting to name calling once or twice in verbal retaliation.

As the situation was, the band had embarked on a marvelous road trip via Murdoc's not-so-marvelous recreational vehicle. The original plan was to spend some quality time together on the beaches of the French Riviera, then perhaps gallivant through the south of France to do some gigs. Whatever the initial proposal had been, it had been greatly altered by Murdoc's stubbornness and lack of directional sense. After making it through the tunnel spanning the depths of the English channel, things started to look down as none of them could remember France looking quite so much like a desert. Days had passed and no sign of civilization could be found. Not even a gas station…

The hours dragged on, as did the Winne over rather rough terrain. Noodle had rested her head on the table top now, exhaustion and boredom consuming her. She awoke to a start each time the vehicle jarred violently over a large bump, or when Murdoc spit out a particularly loud curse. Her dark black eyes suddenly met with a similar pair, staring sleepily back at her. 2-D gazed at her from the same position, resting his head against his arms which were folded across the table. "'Ey Noodle, want to turn in fer th' night? I fink Murdie is hell bent on gettin' to where we're goin' tonight, an' th' table ain't so comfy."

Noodle agreed with a silent nod, but couldn't quite act upon it. Laying her head down again, she closed her eyes and was out. 2-D blinked several times as if waiting for the girl to revive, but realized it was a moot point. Standing up slowly, he stretched his arms and let out a yawn loud enough to annoy the hell out of the driver.

"Stop it yawning ya sod, will ya?" Murdoc grumbled, not having any real reason to request 2-D to cease such involuntary actions, other than he needed someone to bitch at and Russel had long since retired to the couch. "I'm certain that if you'd stop being so ruddy annoying we'd get there much sooner."

2-D ignored Murdoc's sound logic, then glanced down at the slumbering Noodle. "Right, sorry Murdoc, but I was jus' going to ask ya if maybe Noodle could lay down in yer bed cos.. Well she's uncomfortable ya know?"

Once again fingers clenched the steering wheel, and black bowl-cut hair bristled a bit. "What'n the hell do you think this is, a 5-star hotel?" Silence ensued from both awake parties, then the black-haired one sighed and turned his eyes from the road briefly. "Fine, lay her down in there. But don't put yer filthy mitts on nothin' in there, ya hear me?"

"Y-yes…"

"An' come back after that."

"Aw'right."

With relative caution, 2-D turned to Noodle and scooped her up in his arms, draping her against his shoulder and making his way to the threshold of the kitchen. It was pitch black in there, and if 2-D hadn't been such a horror film aficionado, he might just have been too frightened to walk through the creepy space. Nevertheless, he high-stepped it through the questionable contents of the floor and made it into Murdoc's sanctuary. Noodle stirred a few times, now clinging to his back to prevent from slipping as she realized what was happening. She'd grown quite a bit as she'd reached teenager-hood, and she couldn't climb around on Murdoc or 2-D as much as she used to. Russel was a different story however, and despite her maturity, she still took time to be silly and use the robust drummer as a playground.

"2-D-sama. Doko da… ano… where are we? It is so dark."

He felt her dig her painted nails into the fabric of his t-shirt, and he came to a stop in front of Murdoc's bed after nearly tripping on the horrific polar bear skin rug in the doorway. "Oh, I jus' figured you might want to sleep on a… mat….tress.." His empty eyes scanned what Murdoc claimed to be a bed, which was a well-used mattress covered by a thoroughly stained sheet. His brow furrowed, and he wondered if bad Karma would return to him if he was callous enough to lay Noodle down on the thing. Luckily, he didn't have to make the decision.

Noodle wiggled her way out of his grasp and slid onto the atrocious bed, trying her best to avoid laying in what seemed to be a puddle of… something. She nuzzled into the rather lumpy pillow and emitted a sigh. "Arigatou 2-D-sama. Oyasumi."

2-D nodded, not sure if leaving her in this shrine of decay was the best thing he could do, but she seemed content enough. "Aw'right, g'night Noodle."

The blue-haired zombie did an about face and began to leave, but was a bit shocked when he was abruptly jarred to a standstill as a small hand grasped his wrist. Blinking his eyes that were as pitch black as the semi-foul-smelling bedroom, 2-D turned his head to look back at the one who was impeding him. "2-D-sama. Do not let Murdoc-san be mean to you tonight. And tell him his bed smells like an unpleasant union of vodka and body fluid." With that matter-of-fact comment, the young Asian guitarist drew 2-D's hand to her face, and with a soft "chu", gave his knuckles a modest kiss. Having done that, she snuggled her face back into the pillow, apparently too tired to noticed that it reeked of Murdoc's general bad odor.

2-D managed a smile as his hand was returned to him, and continued on the path back through the hauntingly eerie kitchen to the living/navigating area.

Another eerie thing was that Murdoc was completely silent, still sitting in the driver's seat, still driving. 2-D peeked out from behind the doorframe of the kitchen, as if expecting either a gruesome Scooby-Doo monster to jump out and attack, or worse, to get an earful from the band leader. The scrawny 20-something stared intently at the back of Murdoc's head, a moment or two passed and silence once again ensued. Sighing, 2-D walked passed Russel who was laying on the couch, snoring and scratching himself as he tended to do in his sleep, and he took a few steps towards the fold-down table.

"Oy, come sit up 'ere Stu-Pot."

2-D froze in his tracks, then turned and blinked several times in confusion. "Erm.. Me?"

Another beat of silence fell over the two, but Murdoc was visibly shaken. "No, not you. The other sodding blue-haired wanker!" He finally turned, one red eye glowing eerily in the dim light of the dashboard, his lip curled in its classic position of rage. "Of course I mean you, get your arse up 'ere!"

2-D didn't have to be asked twice, and he shuffled hastily up to the front and slunk into the passenger's seat, using ever ounce of poor posture he could muster. It was his hope that maybe he could disappear into the torn up seat cushion. No such luck. Every bump they barreled over made him cringe, expecting the rocky wrath of the road to somehow personify itself through Murdoc's own rage, thus resulting in personal injury. But the punch to the arm/ribs/face never came, and they sat together in silence for the best part of 40 minutes. Suddenly, Murdoc realized that he hadn't ingested mass quantities of nicotine for quite some time, and it frightened him.

"Stu! Gimme a fag."

2-D had vegged out so to speak, drowning within the limbo of sleep and consciousness, but was soon brought to his senses when he received a sharp elbowing to the gut. He let out a short gasp and doubled over a bit, holding his stomach with both hands.

"Cigarette! Cigarette!" the other demanded, reaching a hand out to receive the goods.

2-D sputtered out a response that was all but comprehensible, then reached into his pocket and extracted a cigarette and his lighter. In his oh-so-polite manner, Murdoc snatched both items from his band mate's hands and slide the half-crumpled tobacco stick between his lips, taking his hands off the wheel for a moment to light up. "Ahh… much better." He puffed away on it until he was futilely sucking on the butt, then abruptly slammed on the brake, causing 2-D to cry out in shock as he fell out of the seat and slammed against the dashboard, repeating history as usual. Murdoc blinked, staring out of the windshield, feeling the vibration in the floor as Russel rolled off the couch and impacted with a very audible THUD! … and then curses. While 2-D groaned and shakily peeled himself off of the dashboard, and muffled protests in Japanese could be heard through the wall, Murdoc's expression became incredulous, and he turned to look at the blue-haired one and spoke with the utmost earnest. "Bleeding hell! I think we may be lost!"

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Gone is the sun, and the hopes of making it to the Riviera on a timely basis. What will our intrepid foursome do now? Day 5 approaches.. R&R if you so desire. 


	2. Day Five

**The Gorillaz:**

"Rock It"

Fan fiction by _Vilsy..._

_

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_

The Gorillaz characters and related situations thereof are copyrighted property of Jamie Hewlett and the Gorillaz Partnership. Just thought everyone would like to know that.

I'm sure this chapter has some foul language in it.. I try to keep it mild but you never know what's going to come out of Murdoc's mouth. Not much action in this chapter, and I apologize if the story seems to be going slow, but I'm just trying to get a feel for each character, how they speak, react to each other, etc. Let me know if you think I'm doing all right with this aspect. Thanks, and enjoy!

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**Day Five**

The morning brought heat. It was only 9 AM (according to Russel's watch; the Winnebago dashboard clock kept blinking 12:00) and heat lines rose off of the dusty ground. After driving to exhaustion, literally, Murdoc pulled the Winnie over and finally retired to his bed, almost flopping down on top of Noodle. Never wanting to feel what it was like to be sandwiched between Murdoc and bed sheets that reeked of Murdoc, Noodle hastily skittered out of bed and back into the living area. She ended up curling up in the driver's seat to finish her slumber, awakening early with 2-D and Russel. Murdoc had yet to emerge from his unholy shrine.

They might have been able to continue their voyage, but Russel refused to drive the Winnebago; he was convinced that the devil or some such demon would possess him if he so much as touched the steering wheel. He certainly had his fill of ghostly possession. Noodle, bright as she was, wasn't of age to drive. Not that any cops would pull them over and check for her license in the middle of nowhere, which is where they seemed to find themselves. And 2-D? He was banned from driving since he frequently fell asleep at the wheel.

Thus, they were at the mercy of Murdie.

The sun beat down on 2-D as he sat on the stoop of the Winnebago's door, arms resting on his knees. He wore a pair of sunglasses and a visor, his spiky blue hair sticking out from under it in all sorts of directions. In his mouth was a virgin cigarette, which he was rotating in circles in his mouth, flipping it around with his tongue idly. He sometimes participated in mock competition using such skills with Murdoc, using anything from cigarettes, toothpicks, to Swiss Army knives. It was amazing what those two would put in their mouths. The contest winner was determined by whomever could flip the object the most in the shortest amount of time without missing, screwing up, or stabbing themselves in the tongue and bleeding to death. So far Murdoc held the championship title, mostly because his tongue was so freakishly long, and he had… experience with it. 2-D did well but the odds were stacked against him.

But this was idle practice. The vocalist let the cigarette stop between the gap in his teeth and held it there precariously as he fumbled about for his lighter, searching through the pockets of his track jacket. Once he located it, he lit up his tobacco stick and took a long drag, staring off into the distance. The smell of lighter fluid was accompanied by the sudden scent of burning flesh. 2-D sniffed a few times, then leaned back against the door, lifted his arm up to the side of the vehicle and knocked on the paneling with the back of his hand. "Oy, Russel, wot in th' blazes are you cooking in there?"

Silence followed this inquiry, until suddenly a small window burst open, smoke pouring from it. When the heavy, black, nebulous gas began to clear, the shadowy figure of Russel's head and torso could be seen peering out. He coughed a few times and cleared his throat. "I 'unno, D. I think it's meat." He waved one of his large hands about in the air to further remove the smoke. "Found it in Muds' fridge, so can't be too sure."

2-D flinched behind his shades, obviously shaken by the possibility that they would be eating something belonging to Murdoc. The chap, of course, wasn't all that concerned with hygiene or sanitation. "Well it smells like shit, I tell ya." Having given this useful bit of information, 2-D reached down and prodded his fingers against the dry sand that he was resting his red Converses in. "And, if it's red meat, I'll 'ave none of it. I fink I'd rather 'ave me somma this dirt, fanks all th' same."

Russel blinked a few times at his band mate then shrugged. "Suit ya self, D, but it don't look like we're gonna find a Kentucky Fried Chicken on the road any time soon. So if ya wanna keep what little meat you got on them scrawny bones, I suggest you come in here and have some of dis.. Um…" He disappeared back into the window for a moment, then popped back out. "I think it uh.. Uh.. Might be a rabbit.. Or perhaps a… jack-a-lope."

2-D took another drag of his cigarette before shifting his weight to stand up, pinching the butt (of the cigarette of course) and flicking it off into the dirt, stepping on it in a gallant effort to prevent sand fires. He slid his hands into his back pockets and peered off into the distance. "Oy! Noodle! Soup's on. I fink.."

Some distance away, the young girl had found an old, rotted, wooden fence that randomly stood on the side of the road, not seeming to serve any real purpose. It was here that she stood with one foot on a narrow post, the other foot lifted slightly as she balanced most gracefully. She was covered from head to toe, but in light Chinese silk so the heat didn't effect her greatly. Her hands were hidden within the baggy sleeves of the emerald green shirt she wore, and were clasped together in front of her. She seemed peaceful despite the fact they were stuck in the middle of nowhere on a dirt road, waiting for the prince of darkness to wake up and continue driving. She opened one of her slender eyes very slightly and gazed into the Winnebago's direction. "Yes, I come now." Having said this, she hopped off the fence and skipped over to 2-D's side, a highly disturbed look on her face when she caught wind of their "breakfast." Her hand quickly rose up over her nose and she recoiled in disgust. "Oh! What is this horrible stench? It smell worse than Murdoc-san's bed sheet!"

2-D was already jones-ing for another cigarette but he resisted as he reached over to open the door to the Winnebago. "I hear ya, Noodle. I fink I'm gonna wait till we get to a fuel station or sommink." Without further comment, the two of them climbed back into the RV and reluctantly made their way to the kitchen, waving away the black smoke with their hands.

The atmosphere wasn't much more pleasant behind the closed door of Murdoc's bedroom. The black smoke, a testament to Russel's gourmet cooking, was seeping under the small space at the bottom of the door. Murdoc probably wouldn't have noticed, seeing as he was asleep and dead to the world, but the other inhabitant of his room, excluding the cockroaches, certainly did notice.

Murdoc was lying on his back in his bed, one arm draped over his stomach, clutching loosely at the blanket (which could really stand to be washed) that covered up to his waist. The other arm was lifted over his head, bent at the elbow so his forearm was resting against his black hair. All was well. Until needle sharp claws bore down onto the skin of his bare chest and a vile, unholy screeching noise reverberated throughout the room.

"Squaaaarrrrkkkk!"

"Gyaaaaah! Bleeding Hell!" Murdoc snapped awake and threw himself up into a sitting position, flailing his arms as he got a mouthful of feathers and a rather nasty scratch right down his chest. Spitting out a rigid black feather, he snarled and wiped his mouth with the back of his forearm, blinking his multicolored eyes a few times to focus in the dim area. "What in Satan's name is.." He stopped speaking as a jet-black raven flapped its wings wildly at the foot of his bed, surrounded by a cloud of equally black, billowing smoke. "…Cortez, did you set fire to the Winnebago again!" The avis hopped up and down and continued squawking, as if to comment on how utterly ridiculous this accusation was. Murdoc was half-awake so it was forgivable for him to think his avian companion was a part-time arsonist. Nevertheless, the bassist pushed the blanket off of him and stood up, coughing a bit and seemingly unaware of the bloody red lines across his chest. "Damned bird… now where is that ruddy thing?"

Back in the trash dump that was also known as a kitchen, Russel was humming to himself as he poked at the blackened mass of flesh with a two-pronged fork, making sure it wouldn't move anymore. 2-D and Noodle had graced his presence, and were now busying themselves with fanning the smoke out of the room by whatever means they could. 2-D thought it would be effective to blow the smoke out of the small ventilation window.. With his own breath. One can imagine how well that was working. He only managed to spit a good deal and exhaust himself. Noodle, a bit more resourceful, had happened upon a well-used porno magazine sitting on the floor, and used it as a make-shift fan. Russel acquired their attention by putting the "beast" down on the small table in the corner and announced triumphantly, "I think it's venison! Let's eat!"

2-D and Noodle stared at their larger friend and then at the "deer meat" but they didn't have the chance to respond before Murdoc curtly kicked the door to his bedroom open, standing there in only his combat boots and tighty whities. This would be a normal sight, but today he was also holding a fire extinguisher. Murdoc wasn't really an "ask questions" kind of guy, and he further proved this as he fired away in the general direction of the three perplexed onlookers, assuming that he would get lucky and hit some fire.

Needless to say, Russel, Noodle, and 2-D were doused in the foamy white discharge of Murdoc's extinguisher. Ew.

As the smoke and the gas finally cleared, Murdoc grinned and lowered the hose of the extinguisher, thinking he'd heroically saved his beloved Winnebago from certain fiery doom. Instead, he blinked as he beheld three very agitated snowmen. One tall and gaunt, one short and feminine, one big and round, and clenching a very tight fist. "Muds… I's gon' kill yo' cracka' ass."

At last, the Winnie was moving again, bumping along the dusty trail, which was becoming more and more desolate. Russel was sitting on the couch again, nibbling daintily at what seemed to be a drumstick of "deer". Noodle was sitting beside him, her little tongue poking out of the side of her mouth as she idly tuned her guitar for the 7th time that morning. 2-D was sitting once again at the small fold down table, playing with one of his many switchblade knives that he'd brought along. All of them had taken a new set of clothes since the ones they'd been wearing were delightfully ruined. And Murdoc was in the driver's seat, now wearing jeans at least, and a pretty black shiner Russel had given him with love. 3

His eyes were narrowed as he watched the road, lip curled slightly as he grumbled terrible, horrible things to himself. To top it all off, Cortez was perched on the passenger's seat, squawking on about something or other, making an awful racket. "Ruddy bird.. This is all your fault, anyway. Satan damn it all.. We're almost out of fuel."

2-D, despite the horrible tension of the situation, looked up abruptly, his pitch black eyes seeming to light up. "Out of fuel! That's brilliant!" He gasped and quickly ducked out of the way of some random object Murdoc had flung at him spitefully. As he looked back up, he sheepishly pressed the tip of the blade against his thumb. "Well uh.. It's not good but… I am frightfully hungry…"

"Then have somma this, D. It ain't all bad. It tastes like chicken." Russel graciously offered 2-D a thigh bone.. Or perhaps it was a wing. But then, deer don't have wings. 2-D rejected it all the same.

"Ah, no fanks, Russ. I'll just wait until we arrive at the fuel station. It can't be far, right Murdoc? Murdoc…?"

Murdoc wasn't listening. Instead he was staring at a strange speck on the horizon. A lone speck that looked peculiarly like a gas station.

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A beautiful start to a beautiful day, but the good ol' Winnie's running on E... Will the foursome make it to the gas station in one piece? Will 2-D finally find something to eat that he's not allergic or otherwise intolerant to? The world may never know! Until chapter 3... R&R my happy friends. Oh and.. shameless plug> Check out my Noodle community on Livejournal. Be the first one to post and earn a pat on the back. I'll fax it to ya, I swear! The community name is sukiidanoodle  



	3. Fuel for Fools

**The Gorillaz:**

"Rock It"

Fan fiction by _Vilsy... _

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The Gorillaz characters and related situations thereof are copyrighted property of Jamie Hewlett and the Gorillaz Partnership. Just thought everyone would like to know that.

Thanks, everyone, for the reviews as always. I really appreciate them. I'm glad you are enjoying the story.. and I enjoy reading your Gorillaz fics too! nn I wonder if any of you do the roleplay thing on Yahoo... is a dork .. But anyway, here comes chapter 3... 2 days later than promised! -- Beware of Murdoc's mouth as usual. Enjoy!

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**Fuel for Fools**

Things weren't looking good. A mere 5 minutes later, and the Winnie was sputtering down the dirt road like a hunched over geriatric man putting along the sidewalk with his walker. "No.. no… no! Damn it! Keep goin' you dang blasted piece of crap! Damn you to Hell!" Murdoc's mood had improved! Not really. He jammed his foot repeatedly on the accelerator, but it should have been aptly renamed "the shake, sputter, and stop moving pedal."

"Keep!" sputter "Bloody!" jerk "Going!" dead stop "Argh!"

2-D sat rubbing his temples profusely, all the monologue-ish yelling and violent jerking of the vehicle accentuating a growing migraine that was gripping his empty head. He made a reach into the pockets of his riveted jeans, desperately groping about for his precious plastic sandwich back which held an assortment of colorful pills. Russel had finished his "breakfast" and was cracking his knuckles with his big fingers, aiming to beat the hell out of Murdoc again if he didn't stop raving like a maniac. Noodle had looked up from tuning her guitar with concern, realizing that more inconvenience was on the way.

"Murdoc-san? Daijobu, ka? Is there something that we may do to make your demon-screaming less loud and painful to our ears? Ne?" There was little to no sarcasm in her voice, but Murdoc reacted unpleasantly anyway, his fingers meaning to tear his own hair out.

"Graaagh!" He stumbled out of the driver's seat, startling Cortez who squawked loudly and flapped out of the way, retreating into the "safety" of the kitchen. The obviously cheesed-off bassist stormed down the aisle, glaring at Noodle rather coldly. "You can get out 'n push for all I care, the lot of you! Lazy prats, I've got half a mind to--" He trailed off as he swung the door open and jumped out onto the dusty ground below, slamming it behind him, only to have it fall off one of its hinges and creak precariously as it swung back and forth. "Satan damn it all!"

Back inside, Noodle, Russel, and 2-D all exchanged disturbed glances at one another before they all got to their feet, Noodle leaving her guitar laying across the couch. Reluctantly, they followed their fear-inspiring leader out into the dry heat and the glaring sun.

Murdoc was still ranting unintelligibly when 2-D appeared in the doorway, lifting a finger as if to say something uplifting. Instead he "eeped" as the door slammed back against its frame after Murdoc had given it a good kick in frustration, nearly knocking the poor vocalist clear in the face. 2-D recoiled and gave up on his inspirational speech that he had lined up for his band mate, and Russel clamped a large but gentle hand on his shoulder. "Let me handle this, D." The New York native lumbered out of the door and landed casually on the sandy ground next to the irate bassist, who was now futilely kicking the right rear tire.

"Muds. Yo Muds! Cool it, man. You'll mess up them Cuban heels you love so damn much." Russel made his way towards Murdoc in an attempt to intercept the assault on the Winnebago by standing in the way, whilst Noodle skipped onto the dusty ground and stared up at the sky. She seemed to see something that troubled her, as she didn't move or flinch, or even look down as 2-D staggered down the step and bumped into her shoulder.

"Oh, sorry love. Um… Murdoc? Why'd we stop? We were almost at th' fuel station. I fink.." 2-D squinted his empty black eyes and turned in the direction they had been heading in. "Tha's odd. I thought we'd be closer by now…"

"WHY'D WE STOP? WHY DID WE STOP? WE'RE OUT OF FUEL, NUMB NUTS! Why I oughtta--"

"Murdoc, man. Chill out. Hey, don't go over there. I ain't want no fighting. Hey!" Russel had saved the back right tire, but now he had to save 2-D. He grabbed Murdoc by the shoulders, restraining him before the enraged Satanist could throw himself at the unwary vocalist.

"Graagh! Russ! Lemme go! That dullard deserves a good beatin'!" Murdoc flailed and spit like a rabid Chihuahua, but Russel refused to let him loose. It was a good thing too, because 2-D just stood there dumbfounded, blinking ever so often as if he hadn't yet realized that Murdoc was going to kill him. It must have been the effects of the painkillers. He did react, however, when he felt small fingers pulling on his hand.

"2D-sama.. Look." Noodle had reached over to tug gently at 2-D's hand to get his attention, and once she had it, she pointed up to the sky. "Look, 2D-sama…"

2-D blinked at the girl, then directed his attention skyward. He squinted his eyes against the sun, wondering what it was he was supposed to be looking at. "Erm.. Yes Noodle. It's th' sky."

Noodle paused, then squeezed his hand tightly as if it would correct his vision. "Do you not see them?"

"See what?"

"The bodies."

"…. What?"

"They are flying across the sky. The bodies.. Like clouds. They haven't any heads. Do you not see them?"

Again, 2-D loved scary movies, but Noodle was freaking him out. "What? Noodle, yer joshin' right? Eh heh, I mean, there's nuffin' up there."

Noodle's bangs were shagging down over her eyes, so 2-D wondered if she could see anything at all, but the girl stared at him with the utmost serious expression, then diverted her gaze back to the heavens and whispered softly, more to herself now than her older band mate. "They haven't any heads…"

2-D glared at her and felt a shiver go down his spine, then turned to look over at Russel, who seemed to have the beginnings of a sleeper hold on Murdoc. "Fellas, I fink Noodle needs some water or sommink."

Murdoc and Russel stopped wrestling to stare over at Noodle and 2-D. Noodle looked pale and eerily still, her head still tilted skyward as she clung unwittingly to 2-D's hand. 2-D looked at her, then back at the other two males, shrugging his shoulders at a loss. Murdoc and Russel blinked, looked at each other, then looked up at the sky. There was nothing to be seen but the hazy orange glare of the sun and the yellowish sky in which it reigned. Russel pushed Murdoc forward and dusted his hands off as if he'd touched something un-Kosher. Murdoc grumbled to himself, glancing back at the drummer for a moment before fixing the collar of his gray shirt and marching towards the other two. "Right then, we aren't going to solve anythin' by just standin' 'ere."

"Pfft," came Russel's interjection, directed at Murdoc's sudden righteousness.

Murdoc ignored the interruption. "Yes, well. We'll need some fuel, so I think the best course of action would be for one of you blokes to push the damn Winnie to the fuel station. I'll stay inside and steer. Now which one of you volunteer?" 2-D and Russel glared at Murdoc incredulously, while Noodle was still preoccupied with the sky. "Anyone? Anyone?"

"How about… you take yo' sorry ass down to that gas station an' get some god damn help to come out here n' tow this damn thing?" Russel graciously gave his suggestion, and Murdoc's hair bristled a bit. "D and I will stay here and hold down the fort, maybe give the thing a push or two, see if we can budge it. That way you won't hafta pay the tow truck man so much money to move this hunk of tin."

Murdoc looked as though the very thought of him having to put forth any effort would kill him. "Me? Why me?"

Russel clenched his fist as if to give visual confirmation. "Because it's your damn Winnebago, fool."

Murdoc wished desperately to fight this logic with his razor sharp wit and intellect, but instead he grumbled and resigned himself to the long walk ahead of him. Sliding his hands in his pockets, he gave the side of the Winnie one last good kick before he marched passed 2-D, giving Noodle an appraising look. "And what of the midget? She gonna help ya push or bird watch all day?"

Russel had extracted a rather fancy metal case from his gray jacket pocket, one specifically for holding his Cuban cigars. He cracked it open and removed a fresh stogy, biting down on the end as his narrowed white eyes glared at the dark-haired Brit. "Take Noodle wit ya. I don't trust ya to go down there and actually bring nobody back. 'Spect you to come back wit some booze n' more cigarettes, forget the whole damn point of you goin' down there."

"Don't be a damned prat, Russel. S'not like you're the one stuck walking in this ruddy heat."

The two older members continued to bicker back and forth, 2-D watching them idly, waiting for a safe spot to jump in. Just as he was going to chime in, Noodle's fingers squeezed around his own once more. He bent down a bit; although Noodle had grown much taller, he still dwarfed her considerably. "Hey, Noodle. I fink it's a good idea for you to go wiff Murdoc. After all, he can get so sidetracked n' whatnot."

Noodle wasn't very responsive, but she was staring up into 2-D's empty eyes intensely, as if trying to silently communicate some concern to him. "They are gone now."

"…What? Are you still on about those.. Bodies or sommink?"

She didn't answer, but shook her head several times and seemed to become more aware of what was happening around her. She let go of 2-D's hand and stepped forward between the two quarreling men beside the Winnebago. "I will go with Murdoc-san, and keep him from trouble."

Russel blinked, turning his gaze to Noodle who looked quite resolute, even as Murdoc turned and gave her an incredulous glare. "It's on then," Russel declared before Murdoc could open his big mouth again. "D and I'll wait here. You two go get help… and a god damn map while you're at it. And keep Murdoc's ass out of mischief." The drummer sniggered a bit at his own selection of words as he ripped the tip of the cigar off with his teeth, spitting it into the sand and reaching into his pocket for a lighter.

"… Blast it, come on, Minnie Mouse, let's go." Murdoc grabbed one of the diddly-bobs on Noodle's brown hat that apparently resembled mouse ears in his mind's eye, tugged on it a few times before letting go and pushing past 2-D, giving him a bully-ish glare in passing.

Noodle smirked a bit, annoyed that Murdoc continued to treat her like a child despite the fact that she was easily more mature and wise than he was. She did, however, turn on her heels and follow him, nodding at Russel. "We shall return with haste."

Russel returned the nod and lit his cigar, puffing out a large cloud of smoke as he waved his thick fingers at the young girl. "Take care, boo. Keep Muds in line."

Noodle skipped a bit in an attempt to sync her footsteps with Murdoc's, who was already quite a bit ahead of her. As she passed 2-D, the singer grabbed her shoulder suddenly and pressed some money into her hand. "Noodle, could ya be a love and buy me a rice cake or sommink? Maybe some soy milk to go along wiff it? I'm wastin' away 'ere."

Noodle blinked at the money, then at 2-D. "Of course, I will bring it back for you 2D-sama."

"Fanks, love."

Noodle bowed her head to him then stuffed the money in the pocket of her jacket and took off after Murdoc who was kicking up a small cloud of dust behind him as he prodded along. She sprinted forward until she reached his side, slowing to a jog. Murdoc looked down at her from the corner of his eye, pulling a cigarette out of his pocket and sliding it between his lips. "Well this is crap, innit? I gather this is somehow Stu-Pot's fault."

Noodle merely nodded absently, hearing his voice but not hearing his words. She was staring hard ahead of her at the speck on the horizon-- the supposed gas station. She was trying quite hard not to look up into the sky, because in reality, the bodies she had seen flying overhead, were not gone.

* * *

Slowly but surely, our heroes (heroes?) are trying to resolve the precarious situation they've found themselves in. What was up with those things Noodle swore she saw, but no one else seemed to notice? Maybe the heat is getting to her head, or maybe they aren't in France anymore... hopefully a carton of soy milk and a packet of rice cakes will bring a brighter day for the team. Find out next chapter! R&R please.  



	4. That Sinking Feeling

**The Gorillaz characters and related situations thereof are copyrighted property of Jamie Hewlett and the Gorillaz Partnership. Just thought everyone would like to know that.**

**A/N: Well good gravy, it's been about 3 years since I've updated this story. Well here's the 4th chapter, 3 years late! Better late than never I suppose. I'm getting back into Gorillaz... who knows how long that will last... but I love them dearly so I figured this story deserves more attention. I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

**That Sinking Feeling**

"Ohmmmm…"

"Can't believe this…"

"Ohmmmm…"

"Only tha' damn foo' coulda driven tah Hell off tha' damn highway…"

"Ohmmmm…"

"Better bring back a map or I'mma beat the livin'--"

"Ohmmmm…"

"Say 'Ohm' again, D, an' Imma bust--"

"O-oh…ohm…" -THUD-

Bright, burning, blinding. The scorching yellow sun beat down mercilessly on the white sand and the white skin of the Gorillaz' vocalist. 2D had chosen to combat the harshness of the desert heat with a bit of peaceful meditation and chanting that he had studied during one of his trips to Tibet. Russel's patience was wearing thin as he was down to his last stogy and wit's end. As he babbled threats to himself, originally targeted on Murdoc, 2D's incessant, low frequency hymn had become somewhat annoying. Despite the mental calmness 2D had achieved, it was hardly enough to ward off impeding heatstroke. Before Russel could make good on his latest threat, 2D abruptly collapsed into the sultry dirt and lay spread eagle as if having fallen victim to some unscrupulous act of road killing. Although he was still alive, he breathed uneasily as his hollow eyes stared vacantly into the sun. Russel's dark, hulking shadow loomed over his pitiful mass, blocking out the paralyzing rays of heat and light.

"D, you cool? Ya ain't dead, is you?" Russel murmured while rubbing his chin in thoughtful investigation of his comrade's body. His amused expression melted down to one of concern when he observed how sickly 2D really looked. More so than usual. "D...? You really shouldn't stare inta the sun like that. It'll hurt ya eyes man... er... what's left of 'em. D? You still wit me?"

2D's dark chasms of eye sockets seemed to finally focus on the drummer's face. He made a strained attempt to lift his head from the hard, dusty pillow that was the ground, and pursed his dry lips as if to utter his death rattle. Russel looked on in awe and anticipation, wondering how he would explain to Murdoc that his valuable-voiced frontman suddenly expired in the wrath of the desert heat. "Russ... el..." the blue-haired singer managed to wheeze, desperately reaching up a few gaunt fingers in the drummer's direction.

"D...?"

"Can... I 'ave th'... rice cake now?"

"Say what?" Russel retorted as he lifted an eyebrow to the strange request. "You're laid out, ready to die an' all you can ask for issa rice cake?" With a soft 'thud', Russel dropped himself into a sitting position in the sand beside 2D and crossed his arms. "Sorry man, Noodle an' Muds ain't git back yet. Got caught up buyin' booze or shootin' tha shit wit some broad I don't doubt." He drummed his thick fingers impatiently against his arm and smirked as he watched 2D heave a sigh of despair and once again go limp. With a sigh of his own, Russel removed the goggle-adorned flight cap from his head and wiped the sweat from his brow with his paw-like hand. "Hot as all Hell…" he remarked frankly. It may have seemed a silly thing to say for a man wearing a fur-lined flight jacket and cap, but it was helpful in keeping the sun's harmful rays from assaulting his skin. "Damn fool. Muds' the one that got us in this mess in the first place. He's damn near killin' ya, but that ain't out the ordinary I suppose." Russel's fingers drummed out a beat against his arm for a few minutes more before the angry sun began to finally take its toll on him. "Screw this," he declared abruptly, and then grunted his way back into a standing position. "C'mon D, get inside the Winnebago 'fore you pass out. I'mma see if I can push this thing anywhere. D. D...? Aw hell."

Russel knelt down and seized 2D's small frame like one would pick up a pencil, and flung the nigh-zombiefied fellow over his shoulder. Normally Russel was a kind and gentle soul, courteous and level-headed to boot. But that was mostly days on which Murdoc hadn't stranded them in the middle of a blistering desert smack in the middle of nowhere. This said, when he tossed 2D's floppy corpse into the Winnebago's door like a rag doll, he hadn't been as tender as he could have been. "Getcha self together, D," the drummer demanded, dusting his hands off and resting one foot heavily on the stoop of the out-of-commission vehicle. He rooted around in his jacket pocket again, searching for that metal case that could help take the edge off of the situation. "Git behind tha' wheel, put 'er in neutral an' steer it straight."

2D's body lay half on the floor, half slumped against the wall, but he somehow managed the strength and resolve to raise a 'thumbs-up' to Russel's request. He peeled his face off of the wall and rose like the dead up to his feet, turned and glared out the door at his band mate. "Aw'right Russel," he confirmed in a parched voice which suggested he may have swallowed some sand while lying on the ground outside. "I fink I'll jes' 'ave me a drink firs'," he added as he slinked towards the front of the vehicle.

"Yeah, you look like you need it," Russel murmured. His last stogy stared up at him from its shiny, silver bed, just daring the drummer to smoke it in such an un-glamorous setting. Russel's round, white eyes glared at the neatly-wrapped cigar with a certain air of despair. He had been saving his Cubans for a more fitting occasion, hoping to enjoy them in a low-lit, smoke-filled night club with a deafeningly loud baseline pounding him into nightlife ecstasy. Instead he'd smoked them all to keep himself from finishing what Murdoc had started on the rear wheel of the Winnebago. With a deep sigh, Russel abstained and tucked the untouched cigar back into his pocket and rolled up the sleeves of his flight jacket. He positioned himself at the rear of the Winnebago, large hands poised against the surface and braced for testing his strength versus the weight of all of the crap Murdoc had crammed into the already massive vehicle.

Inside, 2D had made a pit stop in the kitchen and recovered an only half-stained shot glass which sat sad and empty at the bottom of the sink. His long fingers wrapped around the knobs of the sink faucet and turned, expecting something resembling water to pour out. Instead, the spigot let out a sort of -puff- and fruitlessly emitted what appeared to be smoke or dust-- or both. The sandy sensation in the singers mouth was becoming unbearable as he slumped at the thought of having no water, and he regretted dry-swallowing his pain pills earlier in the day, as he mused that one or two of them were still lodged at the base of his throat. A drink would really be nice. He placed the shot glass down on the small counter which reeked heavily of whatever Russel had cooked for breakfast and slid over to fridge, warily. Again, guts and gore wasn't something 2D was unfamiliar with looking at, but the contents of Murdoc's refrigerator always a little on the disturbing side. Slowly, he pulled the door open and the same, musty scent that more or less dominated the entire Winnebago wafted out. 2D's nose scrunched up and his tongue lolled out in a "yeeeck" sort of way. The fridge at Kong Studios was pretty unsavory, what with the human brain that nobody seemed to want to claim, but at least the crisper always worked. The vocalist lurched to the side as he swore he saw something crawl out of the egg bin and skitter away. "Erm… righ', wot's t' drink then?" he muttered to himself, daring to reach his good, microphone-holding hand into the fridge at great risk of loosing it to some pitfall. After rejecting a container that looked a little too close to a liter of blood, he found a pitcher with a hand-written label affixed to it, reading "Homemade" in what was Murdoc's uncanny chicken-scratch. A grin of relief fell over 2D's face as he extracted the aqueous solution. "Brilliant, can't be too bad wot's homemade I s'pose. Nice bit o' lemonade should hit th' spot."

Elsewhere in the hellish expanse of desert, Murdoc and Noodle were having some trouble of their own. Murdoc was now stomping angrily ahead, full speed as Noodle swung her arms wildly to keep up with his breakneck pace.

"Bleed…ing… HELL!" he suddenly blurted out and came to a crushing halt, so abruptly that Noodle slammed into his back, nearly sending them both reeling. Murdoc steadied himself, clearly too enraged to be knocked over by a teenaged girl, and Noodle regained her footing.

"Nani yo, Murdoc-san!?" Noodle whined, clutching the ends of her brown hat and glaring impatiently at the band leader. "Why is it that we have stopped and you have yelled like many bleating sheep?"

Murdoc's lip pursed in confusion as he briefly tried to wrap his mind around Noodle's simile, but he merely looked back at her and sneered. "We've been troddin' through this Satan forsaken desert for ages and that sodding fuel station isn't getting a lick closer!" He lifted his fists in the air dramatically and Noodle blinked a few times, then stepped aside to view the terrain ahead of them. She had been so preoccupied, first with making a game of skipping into each of Murdoc's footprints as he walked ahead of her, and then merely keeping up with his sudden burst of gung-ho marching. She hadn't noticed that they seemed to be making no progress.

"Ano… how strange…" she said, in somewhat of a whimper. She willed herself not to look into the sky, as the looming bodies would surely be there, staring head-lessly back at her as they coasted in the direction of the phantom gas station. She suddenly felt the need to grab Murdoc's arm, who jerked at the sudden contact.

"'Ere now, wot's wrong with yeh, midget? Somethin' bite ya, did it?" he mused, lifting his arm under the strain of the pubescent guitarist that was clinging so tightly to him.

Noodle merely shook her head and looked onward to that speck on the horizon. "Murdoc-san…" she said hesitantly, feeling that perhaps the strange visions she was having were somehow connected to the distance issues they were experiencing. She thought perhaps she should impress upon Murdoc that something was amiss.

Murdoc's patience was being tried by Noodle's behavior, but he was not without sympathy, or perhaps cleverly disguised curiosity at what had her so shaken. "Well out with it already, wot's a matter? It's bloody hotter'n th' crack of Satan's arse, so don't 'spect me to carry yeh, luv, if tha's wot yer on about."

"Iie, that is not it," Noodle continued, feeling a growing ache in her stomach. "In… in the sky…"

Murdoc turned and placed a hand on the girl's shoulder, giving her a demanding look. "The sky, the sky. Wot's all that yeh were goin' on about to face-ache back there? There ain't nothin' in the sky save the soddin' sun."

"But…"

"An' all this rubbish talk isn't gon ter get us ter that bleedin' fuel station any damn--"

Before Murdoc could finish his rant, Noodle squeezed his arm so tightly that he thought she might draw blood. She let out a pitiful whimper, but instead of reprimanding her for delaying their efforts further, Murdoc abruptly dropped to one knee and pulled Noodle down along with him, clutching her against his sweater with his free arm. Something strange was occurring, and the same overpowering, warping sensation that assaulted Noodle moments before gripped Murdoc's insides and forced him to the brink of nausea. Murdoc had a strong enough stomach from years of drinking himself into a stupor, but he hadn't felt this queasy to his recent recollection. It felt like the ocean had collapsed upon them from out of nowhere. Their bodies remained stationary, but a swift and strong force washed over them like a tidal wave. Their hearts were seized by some unseen attacker and dragged down into the pits of their intestines. Noodle buried her face in Murdoc's chest and cried out some desperate words in Japanese, and in the next instant, it was over. All was still and quiet as it had been moments before. The two guitarists sat huddled there in the sand for a moment before the bassist lifted his head and risked a gander at their surroundings.

"Wot in the f-- was that…?" he groaned in barely a whisper as he gazed back in the direction the invisible force had charged into-- the direction of the Winnebago and the other two members of the band. He turned back to look down at Noodle who was still clutching him tightly. Murdoc tried to peel her off of him but it was proving to be difficult. He had wanted to shield her from harm but she had overstayed her welcome. "Aw'right, it's aw'right, Noodle," he tried, in an attempt to coerce her from cutting of his circulation. "S'aw right, yeh can leggo now." She finally lifted her head from his sweater, her fear of the strange event proving to be stronger than the stench of Murdoc's sweaty armpit. Murdoc offered a shaky grin and placed his greasy fingers against Noodle's hat, giving it a generous pat. "There, we're alive, aren't we then? Musta just been a strong wind or somethin'."

"Murdoc…" Noodle bleated timidly.

The Satanist angled his brow and shifted his weight, meaning to stand up and end this huggy nonsense. "Wot is it now?"

"Look," Noodle said in a simple, hushed tone, pointing a finger over his right shoulder.

"Eh?" Following the path of her finger, Murdoc turned his head to look at what she was so insistent on him seeing. His mismatched eyes went wide as the tall, dark structure of a gas station hung over them, not ten meters away. Unconsciously, Murdoc found himself holding onto Noodle a bit tighter. "Bleeding Hell…" was all he could muster saying in response to a ten mile hike receding to a ten meter hop in a matter of seconds. A few moments passed before he finally stood up, holding the girl's hand and helping her rise from her crouched position. They stood there side by side, gaping at the rundown-looking building that seemed to have materialized while they weren't looking. Noodle looked up at Murdoc and Murdoc looked back down at her, as if to silently say "You're seeing this too, right?" Instead, he hastily released her hand and cleared his throat. "Right, guess it's jes' the heat wot's been gettin' to our heads, yeah?" Noodle's expression did not suggest she agreed with this rationalization, but Murdoc stuck to his story. "Anyway, le's get in there an' see if we can't get some git to give us some fuel an' a lift. I don't fancy walkin' back through that…"

Without another word, Murdoc hauled ass toward the station's lot for fear the sun might play more tricks on him. Noodle looked at the ground, still shaken from what seemed like a clear warping of time and space, not heat exhaustion. Determined not to look into the sky, she trotted off after Murdoc, hoping whomever was manning this odd establishment could truly help them get back to safety.

"Aw'right Russel!" 2D was yelling as loud as his parched throat would allow him to. This trip was proving to be a strain on his voice. He hoped Murdoc wouldn't expect him to be singing at any gigs within the next few days… if they ever got to where they were going. When he didn't hear any sort of response from the drummer, he leaned further out of the window. "I sez, AW'RIGHT RUSS-WHAA!" He had leaned a bit too far out of the narrowly cracked window, which despite being half-closed was wide enough for his skinny frame to nearly fall completely out of. He fumbled and flailed his arms about clumsily as the glass of the window pressed uncomfortably hard against his empty, gaunt stomach. After a bit of wiggling around, he managed to successfully, albeit painfully pull himself back into the driver's seat. Russel poked his head out from behind the Winnebago with one raised eyebrow. 2D blinked once or twice, then gave Russel a large, stupid grin and another exuberant thumbs-up. "Aw'right, Russ! 'S in neutral!"

Russel nodded and returned the thumbs-up gesture before disappearing back behind the vehicle, but not before declaring, "Keep her steady, D!"

2D pulled himself all the way back into the Winnebago and let out a sigh. "Righ' steady as she goes. Shouldn't be a problem." He felt rather faint again and leaned back in the driver's seat, lifting one of his feet up and pressing it against the dashboard. It wasn't commonplace for him to be seated at the driving wheel of any vehicle, let alone Murdoc's Winnie. In fact, he was fairly certain that the bassist would throttle him for leaving his face-ached, dullard fingerprints all over the steering wheel for fear he might spread his "stupid". 2D's eyebrows angled down, stopping him from further thoughts involving Murdoc's typical insults. He found himself, from time to time, imagining the sort things Murdoc might say in anger and took a bit to stop himself from doing it. Instead he thought of Russel… could he really budge this behemoth of a vehicle all by himself? And Noodle… would she remember his rice cakes and his soy milk? He was ever so thirsty. "'ang on a tick…" he muttered to himself as he remembered the untouched shot glass of lemonade that sat in the cup holder beside him. He reached his fingers over and wrapped them around the glass, lifting it from the holder that was much too large to actually hold it. Before he could take a sip, the whole Winnebago suddenly lurched forward violently, causing some of the lemonade to spill onto 2D's fuchsia-colored shirt. "Dang it," he cringed, grabbing the wheel with his free hand as the Winnebago slowly began to inch forward. Russel's desire to get the hell out of that hell hole had apparently given him super strength. 2D was impressed as the Winnie started rolling at a modest pace. As promised, he kept the wheel straight as they moved toward that speck on the horizon. "Wicked," he grinned, thinking his rice cakes might be closer than before. "Nice one, Russel. Well, bottoms up," he declared, lifting the shot glass and downing the contents.

It didn't take long for the reaction to kick in. "BLEEAHH," 2D wheezed, spitting out the whole shot worth of liquid all over the inside of the windshield and the steering wheel. He gasped for air as his mouth and nostrils burned, as well at his eyes. "Tha's not LEMONADE!!" he gurgled. His response to chugging a full shot of Murdoc's "homemade" liquid refreshment (being saved and refrigerated for what reason, no one may ever know) was so violent, that 2D spun the piss-drenched steering wheel hard to the right. Before he could recover, the Winnebago had dipped over a sandy bank and started careening out of control. 2D could not decide which was more painful: the sound of Russel's distressed screams as he clung to the spare tire for dear life, or the seething aroma of the chilled contents of Murdoc's bladder assaulting his senses.

2D panicked in his frantic and neurotic way as he rapidly lost control over the wily Winnebago. He chirped out in his high-pitched voice, trying to ascertain what to do first: fling the shot glass unceremoniously onto the passenger seat's already heavily stained cushion, or to attempt to steer the runaway recreational vehicle. He opted for the former first, then hastily wrapped his long fingers around the greasy steering wheel. He swiveled it left and right wildly as the Winnebago continued to tilt dangerous far on either axis, and its path down the sand bank was becoming more and more bumpy and treacherous. Finally, after a few more airy "blimey!"s, he thought to slam on the brake. Unfortunately, this only caused the Winnebago to fish-tail and start to slide sideways down the hill. Russel was clinging to the spare tire on the back of the Winnie, teeth gritting as he braced himself for the worst. And the worst came. The Winnebago suddenly impacted against something hard and solid; the sharp jarring dislodged Russel from his perch and sent him flying through the air with unparalleled force. It was fortunate that a large cactus was there to break his flight.

When the panic, for the most part, subsided, 2D opened his inky black eyes and looked around warily. The Winnebago was, at last, immobile, but a faint, eerie creaking sound was emanating from the side of the vehicle. Without further hesitation, 2D peeled himself from the driver's seat and trotted frantically to the exit. To his dismay, the flimsy door had completely snapped off at the hinges and was nowhere to be seen. This was the least of his troubles as he gazed off into the distance. His thin lips parted into a gawk of utter shock-- there was Russel, pinned precariously against a prickly cactus.

"M' really sorry, Russ!" 2D announced for the fourth or fifth time as he knelt behind his bandmate in the sweltering sand. He reached up to Russel's back again, carefully plucking out yet another cactus needle.

"Yeouch!" Russel squawked as he had each previous time the blue-haired singer extracted one of the sharp prickles his back was riddled with. Russel was sore physically, but not so much emotionally, over the whole accident with the Winnebago. When 2D explained that he'd taken a mouthful of what he thought to be Murdoc's lemonade, the drummer figured being crucified on a cactus was a less horrible fate. In any case, 2D was making up to him by removing the painful needles lodged in his flight jacket, some of which had worked far enough in to puncture his skin. He sat there with his arms crossed, staring at the troublesome Winnebago.

"I din't mean ter to it," 2D kept saying, as if he were a broken record, quickly yanking out another needle from Russel's shoulder.

"Yeeeow!! ... It's OK, D. If that rock wasn't there, the damn thing'd be laying on its side right now and we'd really be in some shit." He was referring to the hard, solid object that had finally stopped the Winnie from tumbling down the embankment, and subsequently slingshotted the drummer into the cactus. He was right in this dissertation, but knew that Murdoc would be livid when he saw what had happened to his precious Winnebago.

2D peeked out from behind Russel's shoulder and grimaced sheepishly. "Yeh know, I din't mean ter do it..." he murmured again, and Russel just lifted up a hand.

"S'all right, D, just chill. This is still all Murdoc's fault. He can't git mad at us--" Before Russel could continue, a soft hissing sound was suddenly audible. The drummer blinked, and turned his head to look at 2D. The vocalist cocked his head to the side when he heard the sound as well. It grew louder and louder, and the ground started to vibrate ever so slightly.

"Wh-whassat...?" 2D whimpered, moving closer to Russel as if to crawl under the drummer's hat.

Russel said nothing but scanned the sun-drenched scenery to locate the origin of the noise. It seemed to be coming from the Winnebago itself. To the horror of them both, the sand surrounding the vehicle began to buckle and warp unnaturally, dancing in a hypnotic manner. The Winnebago emitted another creaking sound as it began to turn with the swirling sand it was resting in. The drummer and the singer's blank eyes grew wide as the Winnie started to spin, first slowly then much faster. The hissing sound of the swirling, sandy vortex was becoming unbearably loud, and 2D practically did climb into Russel's hat in fear. The Winnebago started to sink within the waves of sand, sinking deeper and deeper until it was nearly out of sight. Russel broke out of his daze and struggled to his feet, 2D still hanging on him. "Noo!" he cried out and took several steps towards the foundering vehicle. Out of nowhere, the sky went blood red and Russel stopped dead in his tracks. He ignored the pain of the needles and 2D floundering about on his shoulders, and watched as the Winnie disappeared into the ground with a deafening, high-pitched squeal that sounded utterly unworldly. 2D made a sort of choking sound as the sky began flashing from red to black, each cycle revealing a glimpse of pale white bodies floating head-lessly over the horizon. In the next instance, the sky was pale yellow again, and all was quiet.

2D was shivering violently, clinging tenaciously to Russel's back like a Koala bear. It was one thing to watch a sci-fi horror movie, but to be in one was another thing. Russel didn't seem to care and when the shock of what he'd just seen settled, he quickly ambled across the sand to the gray-colored rock that now served as a tombstone for the Winnebago. He looked down beyond the rock at the sand that had swallowed the vehicle whole. There was no trace or evidence of a several ton Winnebago ever having been there. The sand was smooth and untouched.

Russel stood there in quiet contemplation for several minutes. Finally, he reached around and peeled 2D from his back and placed him onto the ground. With a brisk pat to the singer's back, Russel remarked, "Like I was saying, D, Murdoc's gonna kill us."

* * *

Something's... not right. Things are getting a bit mental for our protagonists; what is going on? First the bodies, now the Winnebago... Russel and 2D are going to be in big trouble when Murdoc finds out his wheels got eaten by the desert! R&R if you like and I will try to update when I can.


	5. Thank You, Come Again

**The Gorillaz:**

"Rock It"

Fan fiction by _Vilsy... _

The Gorillaz characters and related situations thereof are copyrighted property of Jamie Hewlett and the Gorillaz Partnership. Just thought everyone would like to know that.

A lot of time has passed since my last update. I actually started writing this chapter back in October. Sheesh. Well, better late than never? Enjoy!

* * *

**Thank You, Come Again**

_-ringle dingle ding ding ting ting-_

The scraping sound of the poorly calibrated glass and metal door was accompanied by a cacophonous assault of jingling bells as Murdoc shoved his way into the convenience store beside the gas station. Noodle scurried in behind him, her shoes making a grainy shuffling noise against the dusty sand that Murdoc had kicked inside. The two stood in the entryway silently for a beat; Murdoc's legs were spread and bowed slightly like he was ready for a ten-paced showdown at high-noon. Noodle ducked behind his right leg and gazed about uneasily at the shelves full of 'convenient' merchandise. Beady black and red eyes finally fell upon the counter and caught glimpse of the establishment's apparent proprietor.

A dumpy sort of gent stood motionlessly behind the counter, framed by cigarettes, lighters, chewing tobacco, and lottery ticket dispensers. He sported a rather pale complexion for one doing business at the apex of the desert, and one of his eyes seemed a tad smaller than the other. Unblinking, he returned Murdoc's glare with an empty and stoic expression, without as much as a flared nostril.

Murdoc had seen a good deal of characters in his day, and fancied himself a bit of one as well. But this fellow downright gave him the willies. Noodle's fingers grasped at the denim of Murdoc's jeans and snapped him out of his befuddlement. "Ah, afternoon, gov," he fumbled, not truly certain of the time. "Lovely day, innit?"

His pleasantries were rewarded with silence save for the faint, unsettling wheezing noise that the bassist dared to assume was the man's respiratory system. Noodle felt heaviness at the base of her neck that refused to let her look up at the counter, and she occupied herself by fiddling with the rivets along the seam of Murdoc's jeans.

The corner of the bassist's lip twitched impatiently, and with a forced smile he pressed on with the one-sided conversation. "Look, me and me mates are 'avin' a bit of automotive troubles. 'Ave ya got a towing service by chance?"

The pale clerk finally blinked once, but made no other indication that was among the living.

"Righ', so that's a no, then?" Murdoc smirked incredulously, lifting a hand to smooth out his greasy hair. It took every fiber in his being to be 'polite' at risk of Noodle giving him a poor behavioral report when they returned to Russell. "Fair enough. See ya got a pump out there. Wot are th' odds that I can get roughly 40 liters of fuel and 40 ounces of whiskey to go?" The clerk continued performing his best impression of a mannequin. Murdoc opened his mouth to let out a few choice words to the statue-like gentleman when the incessant tugging against his leg finally annoyed him enough to look down at the young guitarist. "'Ere now, stoppit fidgetin' with me britches, midget! Make yehself useful n' get us some snacks or somethin', will yeh?" He reached his spindly fingers down and took hold of Noodle's shoulders, whirled her around in the direction of the aisles, and pushed her gently. Noodle angled her head slightly to give Murdoc a shaggy-faced grimace of indignity as she stumbled into the dense forest of processed, packaged goods. An utter look of betrayal rode along her young features, despite her expressive eyes being hidden behind her bangs.

Murdoc skillfully ignored it and strode up to the counter, leaning casually on his right elbow and taking a gander at his fingernails with feigned interest in personal hygiene. He shifted his eyes back to the vegetable behind the counter and hissed at him softly. "Now look, you sodding prat, I won't ask again--"

"She yer daughter?" came the horrifically creepy and no less off-topic interruption. The voice sounded gravelly like it was fueled by the very sand that surrounded the building, or like it had not been used for at least a decade.

Murdoc was so dreadfully caught off-guard that he tripped blindly over his own words. "Yes," he replied reflexively, but then exhibited an appalled expression of reconsideration. "I mean no, of course not!" A subtle chill crept up the bassist's spine as he witnessed a slow and vaguely familiar grin spread across the pale man's face. It was the sort of sly, perverted, toothy grin that, in Murdoc's personal history, often led to a brush with the local law enforcement. To see that same repulsive visage splattered across someone else's mug was more unnerving than Murdoc had imagined, especially since it insinuated impure intentions towards his innocent band mate. "Now see 'ere," the Satanist scowled, prodding at the splintering countertop with a gnarled index finger. The potato-shaped clerk did little to "see here" and was far more interested in staring directly through Murdoc at Noodle who was carefully selecting items from a display case. Undaunted, Murdoc continued, now seeing fit to slam a fist onto the countertop. "'Ow's about yeh get me that petrol I asked for an' I won't 'ave ter get nasty?"

The grimy tactics of threatening others to get his way was like first nature to the bassist. It gave him a great sense of superiority and control, especially when it was not at all necessary. However, the abrupt way that the strange clerk's ill-intentioned, crooked smile straightened back out into a flat line across his chalky white face intimidated Murdoc to an uncomfortable degree. In the next instant, the man's pudgy hand lifted up and slammed down an empty red fuel canister onto the worn counter, causing Murdoc to jerk his body away in surprise. He blinked several times, but the clerk merely continued to stare pointedly straight ahead with the former empty gaze.

"Right... I'll jess... self-service, issit? Well that's brilliant, thanks." Murdoc cautiously reached out a hand and procured the brightly colored container, sliding it toward him slowly as if afraid the clerk might lash out and bite him. With an inward sneer, he turned back toward the door and then glanced at the center of the tiny store. "Aw'right, midget? Be back inna jiff."

Two little bear-shaped ears jolted up from behind a row of cereal boxes. "Chotto matte, kudasai yo!" Noodle's startled voice piped.

Murdoc's grasp of the Japanese language was what you could call nil, but Noodle slipped often enough into her native tongue that he had picked up several phrases. He shrugged off her plea for him to wait, thrusting the thumb of his free hand toward the door. "I'll jess be outside fer a tick, love."

"Wait, wait, I come!" she sputtered in a much louder and more frantic squeal. She skittered to the aisle of refrigerators and darted back and forth, desperately trying to locate a carton of soy milk.

Murdoc leaned impatiently against the wall beside the door, but then he noticed the clerk's eyes were following Noodle's movements a little too closely for his liking. He came to his senses and recalled why the girl had every right not to be left alone for even a few moments. "Aw'right then, come along will yeh?"

Noodle opened one of the glass doors and pulled out a carton of any old thing, resigning herself to apologize to 2-D later. With an armful of snacks and vitamin D milk in hand, she scurried up to the counter, head tilted down as she placed the items upon it. "These, please," she said in barely a whisper, refusing to gaze over the counter at the man beyond. She moved on to fumbling about in her jacket pocket, hastily trying to extract some money.

The man's misshapen eyes affixed themselves straight ahead again, and he mechanically began transferring the items into a paper bag. Noodle was quite efficient at arithmetic and she shoveled out more than enough monetary compensation for the items that now rested in a bag on the counter. She tossed the money onto the counter and snatched the paper bag. "Keep change," she spurted before the man had even rung up any of her purchase.

As Noodle turned to shuffle over to the waiting Murdoc, she made the mistake of finally lifting her eyes to the counter. The clerk's lower and upper lips curled up over his rows of yellow teeth like a peeling banana, and his small eyes were suddenly large and alert. "You will never return," Noodle heard in a terrifying hiss that was so faint she might have imagined it. Her heart began to beat rapidly and her shoes were like cement blocks. "He will leave you... and you will never return."

Noodle, normally courageous and daring, and a martial artist to boot, felt an unfamiliar pang of desperate terror boil deep inside of her stomach at the sound of these words. Murdoc had already leaned his weight back on the door to open it, and the telltale ringle-jingle of the bells harkened what she could only imagine to be the beginning of a wicked prophecy put forth by the evil potato-man. Murdoc was leaving her, and her feet refused to carry her to him quickly. She was frozen in time, white headless bodies flashing ominously across her clouded vision while the dumpy being behind the counter grinned and savored his nigh victory. And Murdoc was blissfully unaware of it all. The toe of one of his Cuban shoes was already brushing against sand.

"Murdoc!"

"OOF!"

With the strength of five Noodles, the guitarist ripped herself from the icy shackles that gripped her and thrust herself towards the door. She collided oh-so gracefully with Murdoc's rear end and they both stumbled out of the convenience store and into the dusty, arid lot outside. For Noodle, time seemed to stand still and she closed her eyes tightly. Somewhere in the depths of her mind, a horrible high-pitched squeal echoed out plaintively. For a moment, she thought she was lost in the darkness.

"Ey, wot's gotten inta yeh, midget?" a familiar and surprisingly welcoming voice growled.

Noodle opened her eyes again to find herself lying on her stomach, clinging to Murdoc's legs having tackled him most expertly. The jarring impact of a desperate teenaged girl had knocked the red fuel container clear out of his hands and it had bounced across the sand-covered pavement. After letting out a groan, Murdoc wriggled his way out of the guitarist's grasp and shifted to his knees, turning to give Noodle quite a disapproving look.

"Yeh lost yer mind er somethin'? Lookit that now, yeh spilled all th' goods n' everythin'."

Noodle ignored the upset paper bag that sat next to her and quickly rose to her knees as well. "You would have left Noodle!" she cried, and her voice was the most loud and clear that Murdoc had heard in a long time.

"What?" he asked plainly, lifting a eyebrow at the sorrowful and betrayed tone of the girl's voice.

"Murdoc would have left Noodle!" she repeated, balling up her fists and lurching forward for emphasis to accompany her shaky voice.

Murdoc's eyes narrowed and his brow lowered again, thoroughly befuddled by the accusation. He leaned forward and lifted a finger, waggling it reprehensively at the young axe princess as if she truly was his daughter. "Look, love, I wasn't leavin' yeh. You were righ' behind me. I know that tosser creeped yeh out but nothin' was gonna happen to--"

The bassist trailed off, his voice fading into the stagnant air. Something had caught his eye, or rather, did not catch his eye. Beyond the huddled Noodle, he expected to see the eyesore of a convenience store looming over them. Instead, he saw nothing. There was desert sprawled out along all points of his field of view. This caused him to jump up like a startled cat, and once on his feet he pivoted from side to side, searching desperately for the building they had exited not even a minute beforehand.

"Wot in th'..." he managed to wheeze as he swiveled to look behind him. The fuel pump remained standing in the distance, as did the small red canister. A quick glance at his Cuban heels afforded him a view of the toppled groceries. These now served as the only testaments to the fact that they had not merely dreamed up the gas station in the first place. "Bleeding Hell..." Murdoc shifted his mismatched eyes back to the girl on the ground that was shivering violently despite it being so blisteringly hot. He dropped back down to his knees and gazed at her intently. He fancied he heard a meek sob emanate from her mouth which was now concealed in the collar of her jacket since her head had tilted down. "C'mere," he said and hesitantly reached his bony hands towards her shoulders. His fingers hovered there for a moment, and he finally built the nerve to pull his distraught band mate into another embrace.

Buried in the unsavory nook of Murdoc's armpit, Noodle began to sniffle and cry softly. The Satanist patted the girl's back, struggling to be as comforting as a person of his careless caliber could be. He was not certain if Noodle knew that there was an empty void behind her where the convenience store should have been, but something told him he need not explain it.

* * *

I've said it before, and I'll say it again. Something's clearly not right. Murdoc may even come to admit it. Will he come to terms with the apparent danger and protect Noodle from whatever crisis has befallen them, and reunite with 2D and Russell? Probably not, but I'm sure you'll find out in the next update. Thanks for reading!


End file.
